


Ars Goetia

by dubstepgun



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Demons, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-16
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 19:22:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dubstepgun/pseuds/dubstepgun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a kink meme prompt: Desmond's carrying another ancient lineage besides Assassin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: All of Desmond's ancestors were incubus (incubi? animi?), or they could be the same demon reincarnated throughout history. 
> 
> One day, Shaun discovers this the hard way. I'd like to see the whole nine yards: tail, sharp eye teeth/canines, elongated claws and what not, and Desmond topping from the bottom. 
> 
> Oh, and his tattoo on his left arm? It's not a tattoo, it's a seal.

Ezio darted across the rooftops of home. Even in the treacherous, shadowless light of predawn, he took the leap across the alleyway without hesitation. He took a quick step over the loose tile near the edge and leapt up to grab the projecting stones on the small bell tower. It was not impressive as they went, not yet, but it would make an excellent place to watch the sun come up over Montereggionni. This early there was only a single person walking the narrow streets, and no sound but a bird's lilting call. It was a luxury to climb as he liked without anyone shouting-

" _There_ you are! Get down from there before you break your neck, you bloody idiot!" 

The figure was in front of the building; a young man in spectacles. Though he was as angry and demanding as any guard Ezio had encountered, he shone blue in eagle vision.

Ezio perched on the tower and called down, "I never fall." 

You'd think he would be more grateful. Ezio had just spent a great deal of money renovating and improving the town, though it still smelled of age and decay. The bird's song was sharp and unceasing. Ezio's stomach clenched. 

He relaxed his eyes and willed his vision to return to normal. It did not. 

Quickly, in the muted shades of the darkened world, he climbed down the tower. 

"Italian, very funny," the young man was saying, his words growing steadily sharper and more rapid. "If you could kindly leave off language practice and using your ancestor's hometown as a playground and focus on not getting all of us killed, you need to get back under cover _now_. Is _be back by dawn_ that hard to understand? The girls've been frantic!" 

Ezio was sliding down and grabbing for the edge of the roof when the bird's voice became static and words. 

" _-mond, do you read me? You need to get back here! What's going on? Are you hurt? Answer me!_ " 

The world buzzed and swung, and the tiles slipped away from Desmond's fingers.

He heard _"Shit!"_ and running footsteps, then the cobblestone street smashed into his side. His body, always the smartest part of him, remembered to roll and protect his head. The impact wasn't so bad. It was a lot worse that the Eagle Vision wasn't going away. It was blurring into smears of black and dark grey, with a too-bright blue blob over him that must be Shaun. He was still yelling at him. Then running his hands over him to check if anything was broken. It must not have been because Shaun was hauling him to his feet and movement made dizzy white lines flash over everything. Shaun's voice and the radio were mashed together and all Desmond could pick out was _"found the idiot, good thing, now I can kill him."_

For a moment there was quiet. Desmond leaned on Shaun, used the indistinct walls of the alleyway to triangulate which way was up, and tried to remember how to walk with one foot in the sixteenth century. 

A distant rumbling sound echoed through the winding streets. Very calmly, very clearly, he heard Shaun say, "Rebecca. About that white van you said you've been seeing..." 

That was all the warning Desmond got before Shaun was yanking him along the alley. 

"Wait a minute," Desmond managed, English feeling alien in his mouth. "Where...?" 

"It doesn't matter," Shaun hissed. "The nearest walls that're still standing. We need to get out of sight now or the jig is up, cat's out of the bag and we are being shoved in it instead and dropped to the bottom of a river somewhere."

They stumbled around the corner. There was something important Desmond was forgetting. He desperately missed being able to see straight. 

Bell tower. The building Ezio- he'd been climbing on. When he saw the door yawning open in front of him, he remembered. 

He froze and the unexpected resistance nearly sent Shaun sprawling. "We can't go in there." 

Shaun yanked on his hoodie. "Desmond we will discuss your feelings on religion some other time. Right now, _move_." 

Despite his best efforts, the doorway was drawing closer. His balance was hundreds of years away from him. The rumbling sound was getting closer. _Not now, not after making it all this time._ "There has to be somewhere else." 

At the corner of the tilted world, he could see Shaun had a grip on the half-rotted doorframe. "I refuse to be caught and murdered because you're picky about real estate!" 

"Stop it-" Desmond tried to break loose, but Shaun was stronger than he looked. " _Lasciami andare, stronzo!_ " 

"Get in and get down!" Shaun hauled, and Desmond went sprawling into the maw of the dark church. Shaun shoved the doors closed, and the last hope of escape was gone with the thin morning light. All Desmond could do was crouch between pews and try to hide until everything went away. 

Shaun was pressed against the door, absolutely silent. The low thrum of an engine came close. Slowed. 

Passed. 

Shaun let out a long breath. "You," he said, "are never going outside again without an escort who can keep you from doing anything apocalyptically stupid. Or we can tie you to a tree. Maybe both. What were you possibly thinking, skipping out for a night on the town without telling anyone the bleeding effect was getting this bad?" 

Desmond could only see his feet beneath the pew. The dizziness and disorientation were fading. That didn't make him feel any better. 

"I knew this was a bad idea. Yes, wonderful, let's invite disaster, as if it isn't practically joggling open the door and putting its feet up on the table already."

Maybe he'd get caught up in talking to himself and forget about him for a while. The sound of the radio made him hope for some more time, long enough to get himself together, but it was only to report they hadn't been seen and were on their way back. Then the interior of the church was quiet. The peak of the ceiling seemed very high above. How could it be so much different inside than on top? 

"Desmond?" 

The sneakers turned toward him. He held very still. God, a pile of hay would be nice right now.

"When I said to get down, I didn't mean that far." He stepped toward him. 

"Don't," Desmond croaked, hunching over. "Don't come any closer." 

Of course that just made him move faster, and he was leaning over, and it was too late. 

"Is something the-- Jesus Christ!" 

Desmond's shoulders slumped. He curled his tail around himself and scratched at his head, careful to take it easy with the long, sharp claws. He glanced up into Shaun's shocked and horrified stare. At least his sight had finally cleared up.

"I hate churches," he said miserably.


	2. Chapter 2

The creature rose up with unnatural grace, fixed Shaun with unblinking cat-slitted eyes, and said, "Don't freak out." 

It was unmistakably Desmond's voice and face, though the skin had a distinctly blueish cast. 

"Oh no," Shaun said as he backed away. "Right now, I have an absolute god-given right to panic, and you're not taking that away from me." 

Light from the rising sun was hazing in through the grimy windows. A mixed blessing, since when the thing spoke it was possible to see a glint of discreet fangs. 

"Just calm down for a second." He stepped up on a pew and climbed over toward him.

"This is the part of the film," Shaun said, never looking away from the yellow eyes that seemed to shine, "where everyone in the theater is shouting at the idiot who went into the dark place with the monster and now it's too late, he's going to get eaten, and he's going to try to run but the door will be locked for no good reason. I'm not even going to try it. I won't give it the satisfaction." 

He had the gall to look insulted. "Nobody's eating anybody, and you're the one who dragged me in here." 

"I didn't exactly expect you to turn into a- what _are_ you?" 

"Look, it's Desmond, okay?" He pushed dark hair behind a pointed ear. "The guy you've been fighting Templars with and bitching at for the past few weeks. I'm still me. I just...look a little different." 

Shaun's heartbeat was working its way down from the pitch of an amphetamined hummingbird. "Getting a haircut is 'looking a little different.' This is- have you got a tail?"

"Yeah," Desmond said mournfully. He caught the end of it in his hand. It was a darker shade of blue, with an arrow-shaped point at the end, like a bloody Halloween devil costume. "And now my pants have a hole. Where am I supposed to get new pants?" 

He let go of the tail and it fell down to sweep slow, doleful arcs over the dusty floor. 

Shaun drew a little closer. Fascination was gaining ground over fear. It was hard to maintain terror of a monster that was only standing there looking embarrassed. 

"Desmond," he said deliberately, "What did this place do to you?" 

"It's a thing about religious stuff. Churches, mosques, synagogues, it has to do with something about them all having some leftover of King Solomon's design or something. I don't know, I never paid much attention to all that mysticky crap. Damn it, Ezio was so much better at this. He was used to it, he could jump all over those things without breaking a sweat. The last time I was in a church was when this girl from the bar was getting married, and even after I did everything to get ready I was all itchy the whole time. The point is, what it does, it turns me back into my real form." He spread his hands sheepishly. "Ta da." 

"Your real form," Shaun repeated without expression.

"I'm a-" he winced. "Don't laugh." 

"A what?" 

Desmond put his hands in his pockets and poked at the ground with his foot. There was a crinkling sound as the stone cracked. "An incubus," he muttered. 

Shaun was too offended on behalf of reality to laugh. "Those were made up explain why unmarried girls kept at home got pregnant. You can't possibly be a social construct to cover for sexual abuse. Stop it." 

"It sounds bad when you put it that way." His tail swished. The church dimmed as clouds pulled in front of the sun, but his eyes still gleamed. "I mean, I don't actually do anything like that. A bunch of stories've gotten mixed up with the truth." 

Carefully Shaun said, "Which is?" 

"Okay, see, the way I heard it is a million years ago or something, some Assassin was trying to take down some king who'd made slaves of all his friends. He didn't stand a chance on his own, so he used this ring - it must've been a Piece of Eden - to call up a demon. It said it would help him, but he had to give up his body. He figured that meant dying, but he was okay with that, if he tried it alone he'd die anyway. What it actually meant was they kind of merged together, with the ring a part of them, keeping them connected. So he killed the king and set everybody free, and now every once in a couple generations there'll be an Assassin kid who's nice and normal until one day he's sparring with Tony Mayhew and when he gets kicked in the face he gets mad and turns all," he gestured at himself, "blue and spikey." 

He waved his hand a little too enthusiastically and it struck the back of the pew behind him. With a crack like a gunshot, the thick wood snapped in half lengthwise and tumbled over to the floor to puff up a cloud of dust.

"Whoops," said Desmond. 

"Idiot!" Shaun hissed out of reflex. 

They held very still. Shaun strained to hear anyone coming to investigate the noise. After a count of ten long seconds with nothing more than the sound of raindrops beginning to patter lightly on the roof, he breathed out.

There were real enemies out there to be afraid of, and Desmond wasn't one of them. In fact, there were a few things it explained. 

Into the silence Shaun said, "Is that why you ran off?" 

Desmond nodded glumly. He rested his hands behind him on the back of the broken pew. His tail swung slowly back and forth like the pendulum of a grandfather clock. 

"I was just a kid when it came out, and everybody knew. The farm's worse than a small town when it comes to keeping secrets. My parents gave me this long talk about how it didn't make me any less human where it mattered, but everybody treated me different. They were careful around me. It's damn weird to see that a kid you used to throw pinecones at the girls with is afraid of you. Getting older just made it worse. It's awkward enough that everybody's practically family without adding in, 'Hey, you've heard I'm a monster who rapes people, wanna make out behind the shed?'" 

"Can't be an easy way to get girls," Shaun agreed.

"Or guys." 

" _What?_ "

It was an odd experience to see cats' eyes roll. "Me being gay? _So_ not the big deal right now." 

Rain pattered on the ceiling. 

"You're being quiet," Desmond said warily. "That can't be good. Are you freaking out?" 

"I...not really," Shaun admitted. His pulse was settling down somewhere around the area of normal. Once the initial shock wore off, Desmond was Desmond, the same annoying yank as ever. "I've heard about a lot of strange things existing lately. What's a ravenous pit fiend plus or minus?" 

"Hey, I'm not ravenous." He laid his hand on his stomach. "Maybe a little. I could go for breakfast." 

The motion pulled up his sleeve, showing the edge of something. Without thinking, Shaun came closer and grabbed his wrist for a better look. Only when Desmond's unusually warm arm was in his hands did he realize he'd done something monumentally stupid. His stomach dropped and there was an instant flash of himself in the Assassin's afterlife: _"I perished in defense of freedom." "I took a claymore through the heart after vanquishing a tyrant." "Me? Oh, I got grabby with a superpowered hell-thing. Would anyone like to help me find my head?"_

Instead, Desmond looked away with an abashed expression, and Shaun felt stupid for worrying. "The seal looks different for everybody. For me, it's kinda hidden in plain sight." 

Shaun pushed his sleeve up. Over the inky blue skin, his tattoo had turned white and was glowing faintly. A stronger light came from a pattern that had before been lost in the whorls of the ridiculous, cliche pseudo-tribal design: an emblem like a star of David enclosed in a circle, with dots in the spaces between the points. 

"My god," Shaun breathed. "It's the chavvy tattoo of Solomon." 

"Oh shut up."


	3. Chapter 3

“All right, Q and A time if you don't mind,” Shaun said brightly. “This transformation, can you do it on cue?” 

He was perched on the back of a pew, looking at Desmond with undisguised curiosity. Desmond wished he'd disguise it a little. Getting self-conscious made his tail all flicky. 

“Sort of. It takes, I dunno, thirty seconds?” The faint white light from the seal tattoo made eerie shadows in the dim church. He tugged his sleeve down to cover it. “Maybe quicker if I had more practice. And it's kind of disorienting. It's kind of like stretching out a muscle after sitting still for a long time. The hard part is getting back to normal.”

The motion of Shaun swinging his legs was sharp in his heightened senses. Everything was thrown into relief. The red of his hair was so bright it was distracting, and every raindrop on the roof was distinct. He hoped his ears weren't pricking up or swiveling or anything. Being pointy was enough.

“Getting the genie back in the bottle, so to speak.” He folded his hands under his chin. In Eagle Vision, his pulse was a steady flicker in his wrists. 

“Yeah. It takes time and I have to be able to concentrate. I'll have to get out of here first.” 

“Does it hurt? Being in here, or being...like that?” 

“Nah. Places like this just make it a lot harder to not be what I really am. It's just kind of weird, after so long. Feels kind of nice, actually. Strong.” He felt lean and powerful, full of restless energy, quick and perfectly balanced. He couldn't stop his pacing from being a prowl. There was always part of him that hated the idea of going back to as close to human as he could get, having to hide what he was and remembering to pretend things like falling could hurt him.

“Hold up.” Shaun's brows knit and he was starting to look annoyed. It was nice to know some things didn't change. “You stupid aubergine bastard, you could have broken out of Abstergo whenever he mood struck you.”

“Being physically capable of tearing people apart with my bare hands doesn't make it any easier to actually do it. I've never killed anybody in my life, only in Ezio's and Altair's.” He had to be careful about gesturing too enthusiastically, with the claws. “Jesus, the minute you get fangs people think you go around ripping lungs out like it's not even a thing. And if I did, then there'd be witnesses, and even if if there weren't there'd still be dozens of security tapes blowing my big secret out of the water. I'm tough, but I'm not invincible, Shaun. It'd only be a matter of time until they figured out a trick like the fish heart and liver thing, and in the meantime everybody I know and every Assassin in the world has a giant target painted on their back.”

Shaun was giving him a thoughtful look. “You've actually thought this through.” 

“Don't sound so surprised. I can do that.” He moved his tail out of the way and sat on the back of the pew next to Shaun. Give him credit for one thing, he didn't flinch away. “On top of that, I had to cooperate and keep them from trying to hurt me. If some gung-ho guard shot me, there'd be a whole lot of questions about why it didn't work."

Shaun's reddish eyebrows jumped up. Each tiny hair was distinct. “You're bulletproof?”

“Couldn't say. I'm not exactly in a hurry to try it out. But judging by how quick I bounce back from other stuff, I figure I'd just have to lay low for a minute until it goes away.”

“A bullet wound _goes away_ ,” Shaun echoed, as though Desmond were doing all of this just to mess with him. 

“It does for everybody,” Desmond said defensively. “With me, it's just faster.” 

“How did you even manage to get that scar? If you fell on your face so hard it broke through your superpowers, it was rude of you to do it when I wasn't there to point and laugh.” 

“I think it's some sort of a mark.” Desmond touched the line on his lip. It probably stuck out like a sore thumb when his mouth was all purplish. “Mostly we're tough to hurt and things heal right away, but fate kinda conspires to put this here, and it sticks. Hell if I know why.” 

Shaun tilted his head. “Maybe fate thinks it's cute.” 

“Shut up.”

Shaun didn't seem to hear him, or he was really good at not hearing that in particular. ““What about Altair and Ezio? Did they have the same, ah, condition?” 

“You make it sound like herpes or something.” 

“It _is_ sexually transmitted...” 

“Have I mentioned shut up?” Idly, Desmond scratched at the back of the pew, carving out gouges of wood like a kid writing in wet cement. “They did. I can sort of get a feeling for their thoughts when I'm being them, so I steer away from any memories that I can tell have to do with it. Altair controlled it with strictness and discipline. Ezio dealt with it by kind of doing the opposite. And don't even ask me how that worked.” 

Shaun looked fascinated and a little bit horrified. “Don't tell me all of you transform, ah, during.” 

Desmond took an interest in the floor. Moss made dark, geometric lines between the stones. “I dunno.”

“Desmond.” Shaun's voice was shot through with disbelief. “You cannot possibly be a gay, virgin incubus.” 

“I can't just bring somebody back from the bar for a one night stand, okay? I don't know what might happen!” 

“Well, generally the idea is you have a few drinks and see where it goes from-”

Desmond groaned. “Bite me, Shaun.”

“That's not fair. You're the one with the teeth for it.” 

He really did sound like his old pain in the ass self. Desmond gave him a look over. His heartbeat was normal, a low steady sound Desmond could catch if he listened below the sound of the rain on the roof and the drip of the leak in the far corner. His breathing was even, and there was none of the tension in his body that would reflect a fight-or-flight response. “You know, you're taking this way too well.” 

“What, am I supposed to panic? Jump up on a chair like I've seen a mouse? “ His eyes were a clear, bright hazel. “We're on a hunt for some sort of mystical mind control device and I've been spending hours helping you find evidence of more of them that a dead madman hid in scans of Henry Ford's correspondence. I've built up a high tolerance for weird.” 

Desmond's tail twitched in surprise. “You really feel that way?” 

“Absolutely. The little bastards carry all kinds of disease.”

“Not about mice, dumbass!” 

“I know, I know.” He leaned toward Desmond and gave him a look over his glasses. “Look, I hate to be the one to tell you, Desmond, but it's going to take a lot more than a dye job and a few pointy accessories to make you intimidating.” 

For what felt like the first time since he'd been hauled into the church, Desmond let out his breath. His tail curled peaceably over his knee. “That's nice to hear.” 

“What? No it isn't. Have you been paying attention?” 

“I mean, I always thought that if anybody found out, they'd never treat me like a normal person again. They'd either be scared of me forever or they'd want to use me. You ever overhear your dad calling you 'our trump card?'” 

Shaun winced. “Bill can be very...practical.” 

“You're telling me,” Desmond said ruefully. 

Rain tapped on the roof. A jagged-edged patch of cloudy light came in from one broken window. The rest was dimmed by the grime and age that muddied the colors of the stained glass. They were bright and jewel-toned when they were first put in, when the church was newly built and the architect lead him through to show what his investment had created. He'd pushed down the familiar tingle of discomfort and expressed interest in the detail work on the outside, while he kept his hands under his sleeves in case the nails were lengthening. Ezio had. That was Ezio. 

“Hey,” Desmond said, and kept going quickly so the odd feeling of speaking modern English would go away. “Don't tell Lucy and Becca, okay?” 

“Oh, no, I'm going to tell them all about this.” Shaun waved his hand, and Desmond's eyes couldn't help tracking the motion. “I'll also tell them that you ate the last nectarine and I'm the one who put the picture of Becca asleep drooling on her keyboard as everyone's background. I'm not an idiot, Desmond.” 

Desmond felt the points of his fangs on his lower lip as he smiled in relief. “Thanks. I owe you one.” 

“Wait, take that back, did I just make a deal with the devil? I'd always planned for it to be something better.” 

“Not the devil, just a devil. And sorry, no takebacks.” 

“Fine, but I'm not washing my soul before I give it.” 

“Gross,” Desmond said, running his hand through his hair. “It'll be all sticky and British.” 

“As though you're one to judge. Hold on.” Shaun got up from the back of the pew and looked down at him with his head cocked. “Have you got horns?”

“Yeah,” Desmond admitted. Damn it, he'd forgotten about those. He must've moved his hair away from the two little black stubs just above his forehead. “I swear to god, if you say one word about being hor-- nguh.” 

“Does that hurt?” Shaun said quietly as his thumbs pressed against the horns and his fingers brushed toward the tip. His face was close and intent. 

“No,” Desmond said, forgetting to blink. “I don't have feeling in them, exactly...just around...”

It was the base that was sensitive to the warmth from Shaun's hands as his thumbs stroked the inside of the slight curve, back and forth, like Desmond used to do with smooth stones from the creek. The sides of his hands rested in his hair. The sides of his fingers rubbed by the root where the horn melded into his skin, and Desmond's tail made a quick, compact circular motion against the pew. Shaun's lips were very slightly open, like he'd been about to say something and forgotten. No one had ever touched them before. 

“Um.” Desmond managed. He wet his lips. Now he was going to seriously freak him out. “You might wanna...not. Sex monster, remember?” 

“Right.” For a second, he looked like he really had forgotten. After a moment, his hands fell to his sides. 

Thunder rumbled in the distance with a vibration that carried into the stone. The rain fell harder. Desmond's ears caught a the sound of something scratching in the dust.

“We'd better be getting back,” Shaun said finally. “We've both got work to do, and the weather's the best cover we can ask for.” 

“Yeah.” Desmond slid off the pew. It was effortless not to make a sound. Even better if he were barefoot. But humans wore shoes, and humans kept their secrets secret. “It'll only take a minute to turn back to normal once I'm out of here.” 

“No time to waste, then,” Shaun said briskly as he headed for the door. “Things to do, historical figures to stab.” 

“Yeah.” Desmond hung back a step. “But Shaun, don't worry.” 

“Hm?” He was looking out to check if the way was clear. 

“There aren't any mice in here.” 

“Good to know.” He gestured without looking back. “Come on.” 

Desmond let his gaze rove back through the church, into the shadows that could hide nothing from eyes made for them. 

“Only those rats under the pew.”

“ _Out!_ ”


	4. Chapter 4

It changed surprisingly little. While Desmond disappeared behind a dumpster, Shaun huddled out of the rain under the house's eaves and tried very hard not to listen for whatever a tail ungrowing would sound like. He must have missed it, because soon Desmond was trotting out from cover, ears rounded, teeth sans points, and skin back to the nice, reassuring brownish it was supposed to be. On a sudden suspicion, Shaun rubbed the top of his head. No horns, just wet hair and a perfectly normal “Quit it!” 

Then they made their way to the hideout, where Shaun let the girls know that Desmond was back and he was absolutely unbelievably sorry, aren't you Desmond. 

It came out that the Bleeding Effect was the culprit. Well, came out in that Shaun announced it. 

“It took ages to talk him back to the present. Do you have any idea how bizarre it is to argue with someone who's talking to Leonardo da Vinci?”

“We'd better ease up on the Animus schedule,” Rebecca said. 

Lucy was the one to say it. “We can't. There's isn't time.” She looked away. “I'm sorry.” 

“He's exaggerating,” Desmond said lightly. “I even won the argument.” 

It might have been Shaun's imagination, but he thought Desmond shot him a look of gratitude on the way to the Animus. It was disturbing, even if his eyes were shaped correctly now.

It was nearly as strange as when they were yellow and in close up, unblinking, with the slitted pupils blown wide in the dim light. All Shaun could think of at the time was the very fine grain like polished wood, smooth on his pads of his thumbs, and the transfixed way Desmond looked at him. Now he kept thinking of the cliché about taking the bull by the horns, and how utterly he had failed to do that. There'd been a half dozen chances. 

It was a bad idea anyway. A terrible idea, really. Saving the world while a powerful shadow organization tried to kill them all was plenty for any sane person to worry about. Shaun glanced at where Desmond was lying in the Animus, looking serene as always while on the screen Ezio plunged his blade into a guard's guts. Shaun often wondered what it was like to be in the machine, living the past firsthand. He'd ask Desmond, but that might give the twit the impression Shaun cared what he thought. Besides, knowing him, if he was asked what it was like to be Altair, exploring the cradle of civilization and playing a pivotal role in the dawn of a war that would shape history for the next thousand years, he would think for a while, scratch his nose, and say, “I dunno. Hot?” 

He looked over at where Desmond's forearm was grasped by the machine. The curve of metal covered where the needle was sunk in his vein. It was too bad it was the wrong arm to cover the chavvy tattoo. The edges that showed looked much different black and inert than they did while glowing on a dark blue background. It had to be the mark of a Piece of Eden making him a demon's reincarnation, it couldn't just be the mark of making bad decisions while drunk in university like tattoos were supposed to be. Nothing could ever be simple with him.

The notion of cajoling Rebecca into letting him give it a try was tempting, but ultimately a bad idea. Shaun knew his limits. Once he started, he'd get too caught up, and besides, they had more important things to do than go haring off after whatever they felt like. Following your heart was trite idiot advice at the best of times in the sanest worlds, and this was neither. It was no place and no time for romantic notions, no matter how much he wondered about what might be. 

Shaun went back to collecting details about the Borgias. He noticed he was humming the line about quiet desperation being the English way and made himself stop it. 

He did have a _little_ time. Surreptitiously, he checked over his shoulder and made sure Lucy and Rebecca were involved in their own work before pursuing another line of research. 

While the girls went out to scout the town for any signs the Templars were closing in on their location, Shaun stayed to keep an eye on Desmond and smack him with a rolled-up newspaper if he started speaking archaic Italian. 

“I found something interesting,” Shaun said as he walked over to where Desmond was sitting on the Animus rubbing his eyes. 

“Yeah?” Desmond said hazily. It always took him a minute to reorient, and Shaun would be remiss to let the opportunity slip by. 

“There are quite a lot of legends about important figures, king and so on, being related to demons. I'd always dismissed it as superstitious nonsense, but if there really is such thing, there might be a grain of truth to it. The Sumerian King List, for example, says Gilgamesh's father was Lilu, 'a phantom.' And you'll never guess who else.” 

Desmond yawned. “Probably won't.” 

“Merlin.”

“The wizard?” 

“No, the fellow who runs the shop down the street. Yes the wizard! They say his parents were an incubus and a nun. Wonderful family. Obviously, he wasn't real – please tell me you know _that_ much – but the man he was partially based on, Ambrosius Aurelianus, _was_. He was a Romano-Briton war leader against the Saxons who was said to have divine assistance-” 

“Huh.” Desmond drummed his fingers on the edge of the Animus and looked thoughtful. It was a strange look on him and Shaun wished he would stop it. “Seriously?” 

“Really! It's hard to tell, since most of the sources from that time are fractured and half made up outright, but they say the tyrant warlord Vortigern lived in constant fear of him, and eventually handed over power altogether. There's some speculation that Ambrosius was on the Catholic side while Vortigern was Pelagian, and you know how _those_ get along- what's so funny?” 

“I knew it.” Desmond was doubled over laughing. “I knew you'd find a way to be a dork about this.” 

“Shut up and you might prove yourself capable of learning something.” Shaun shoved his glasses up. “It's what you are. Aren't you the least curious?”

“Honestly?” He swung his legs. “Not really. It doesn't have much to do with who I am. It's just a weird extra thing about me, like if I had six toes. It's better to just forget about. It's not like I change into it often.” 

There was a wistful catch in his tone. Shaun got an idea. 

It was only reasonable to send someone with him that night to make sure he didn't wander into the Rennaissance again.

“We can't keep him inside. He'll start whimpering and scratching at the door.” 

“Fuck you, Shaun.” 

“See? Puppydog eyes, look.” 

“Just go,” Lucy sighed, and made a shooing motion from behind her laptop. 

It was nice to be out under the stars. The air in the hideout got stale and close, so the sharp tinge of winter was invigorating. Shaun breathed deep. 

“It's good to be out of there.” Desmond stretched and eyed the windowsills and projections that would make for excellent handholds up the face of the manor. He probably wasn't intentionally trying to remind Shaun that they'd been keeping him cooped up like a budgerigar. “Think you can keep up?” 

“I'm sorry,” Shaun said pleasantly as he jumped up to grab a ledge, “were you talking to me?” 

By the time he looked over, Desmond was already above him.

They ran over what must have been half of the town. It was all Shaun could do to keep Desmond's silhouette in sight and try not to slip on the wet roof tiles and break his neck. Then in midjump fear for his life turned to exhilaration, and he couldn't say if the joy came from flight, freedom, or a part of his brain asphyxiating.

Flat on his back on the roof of the villa, stone blessedly cool through his shirt, Shaun took a moment to catch his breath.

"So." His voice sounded loud in the quiet. "You're part spider monkey. Explains a lot, really."

Desmond laughed softly. He was sitting by him, long legs drawn up, a darker form against the dark sky. He wasn't panting in the least, obnoxiously. "Nope, just the other thing."

"Right. That."

Desmond's head turned toward him. His features were a dim suggestion in the anemic light of the streetlamps below. Shaun could just make out his eyebrows rising.

"Holy shit, you seriously forgot."

"Yes, well, I have a lot on my mind." He folded his hands beneath his head. "You wouldn't know the feeling."

Desmond laughed. "God, you're weird. You give me endless shit about everything else, but _this_ you're cool with."

Shaun waved a hand that ached from hauling himself onto the roof. "Shut up and do it again."

“You've gotta be kidding.” 

“Why not? It's dark, there's no one around, no satellite is getting a picture of anything tonight.”

Desmond was looking at him like he'd transformed into something bizarre, which struck Shaun as more than a little unfair. “It's not something I just do. Before today, it'd been years. What does it matter to you, anyway?” 

Shaun sat up. Sweat stuck his shirt to his back and immediately turned icy in the breeze. “Maybe I'm a closet occultist looking to justify years of black candle expenses.” 

Desmond looked at him.

Shaun sighed. “I want proof I haven't gone mad. Is that so strange?” 

“Okay, okay. There's something I've been wanting to check out anyway.” He unfolded to his feet. Shaun wrapped his arms around his knees, watching.

Desmond took a deep breath. The shadows seemed sharper as his shoulders rounded and his fingers flexed, like a predator tensing to leap to the hunt. For an instant the moon slipped through a rent in the clouds and silvered his face, startling in its expression of anxious longing. 

He paused and looked back at Shaun. “Could you turn around or something?” 

Shaun threw up his hands. “Would you quit being a girl and do it!” 

“All right, all right.” 

Seeing the transformation in action was odd, but less alarming than finding the results by surprise. Fascinating, really. At first the darkening of his skin seemed to be a trick of the light, until the edges of the tattoo that peeked out from under his sleeve began to glow with a faint white light that threw the indigo into unmistakable relief. The ends of his fingers lengthened and sharpened, and his ears shifted to points. The tail dropped into place behind him, swaying over the roof tiles. He eyes shone yellow when he opened them.

“Ah,” he said as he arched his back and stretched like a cat, “that's better.” 

“That rules out _temporary_ madness, at least,” Shaun concluded.  
“I can't believe how much I couldn't see before.” He bounced on the balls of his feet and looked out over the rooftops. “Have human eyes always sucked that much?” 

“Don't even think about it,” Shaun said. “Chasing you all over the town was enough of a pain in the arse when you weren't cheating by being an X-Man.” 

“Liar. You had fun. What I want to check out is here, anyway.” 

He crouched on the edge of the roof like an unusually friendly gargoyle and leaned over the edge with annoyingly perfect balance. Maybe the tail really did have a practical use. It waved behind him, and Shaun fought down the urge to grab it. He lost his chance when Desmond dropped off the roof. His claws clung to the edge for a moment before disappearing. 

“Could never get the leverage before...there we go!” There was a horribly loud crack. Shaun went to look, much more carefully, since he'd feel like a right idiot if he slipped a let gravity do the Templars' job for them. The imbecile was pulling boards off a window. 

“Wonderful idea,” Shaun hissed. His eyes darted through the streets for any movement. “Wake up everyone in a bloody mile and bring them running-” 

Desmond tossed the broken pieces of wood inside before swinging into the darkness of the ruined manor himself. “Better hurry up, then.” 

When this was all over, Shaun was calling an exorcist.


	5. Chapter 5

The light was enough for Desmond's eyes. As soon as he was in, he knew this room. The wall hangings were faded and tattered now, the bed a rotted wreck on bare stone floors. The strangest thing was that Ezio's mother wasn't there.  
  
His ears pricked up at the sounds of Shaun: footfalls and complaining.  
  
"Adding breaking and entering to our list of terrible ideas, are we?" 

"It's not like there's anybody around to care." 

Color seemed to leech into his peripheral vision. He tried to ignore it. 

There, on the mantel. 

"It's still here," Desmond said softly. 

He padded toward the box and lifted the lid like he had so many times before, careful not to scratch it with his claws. There was the scent of cedar. The feathers were piled there, bright white with translucent vanes. 

"Every time I see one, I chase after it, the perfect ones Petruccio asked for." His voice was a low chant he half heard. "See, there's the dent in the vanes where this one was caught under the roof tile. The eave stuck way out, I only managed to get it with the very tips of my fingers. I tell Mother about them. Sometimes I think she hears me. Whenever I come back to the villa I _ow!_ "

Desmond whirled around, poor yanked tail curling into the safety of his hands, and glared at Shaun reproachfully. "What was that for?" 

"Stay in this century." 

"Yeah, fine," Desmond grumbled. "How would you feel if I tugged on _your_ ass?" 

"Confused, mostly. Damn it, I can't see a thing in here." It was strange to see his head turn, eyes seeking blindly, when for Desmond it might as well have been a full moon. He couldn't tell what it was Shaun was grabbing for until his hand was around his arm and shoving his sleeve up to his elbow.

"There," Shaun said as the white light from the seal's scrawled lines turned the room pale. "That's better." 

One of the less conveniently heightened senses was touch.

"Are you using me as a flashlight?" He couldn't quite figure out whether to be offended.

"Torch," Shaun corrected. "Isn't this new and different? Now you're useful. What's over here?" 

He tugged Desmond by the wrist out of the room. It was funny to think that Desmond could have flipped him over his back just by pulling a little. When he let his real form out, he could do things that he could tell physics didn't really want him to. 

The hallway was strange in the light of his seal. It all smelled of dust and rotted wood, and what used to be vibrant colors were now shades of gray. Desmond could see how it used to be, if he looked hard and let his eyes unfocus. He tried not to. The walls had lighter patches where paintings used to hang. 

"All that work hunting them all down," Desmond sighed. "Do you know how hard it is to make him walk past an art store? He's not even that into art. It's just some weird completionist collector thing."

Shaun pulled Desmond's arm up for a better look around the room. It didn't go far before being swallowed up by the darkness. It had never felt so big and empty in the past. "They must have been taken away a long time ago." 

"Yeah." He tilted back to look up at where the ceiling's ornate plaster was now pitted and pocked with holes. His tail pulled in and kept him balanced. "Jesus, it's sad to see the place like this." 

Shaun's hand was warm on his wrist. Long fingers. "You're the one who wanted to come in."

"Would it surprise you to hear I don't always think things through?" 

"I think I've reached my limit for being surprised by you." Shaun's grip slipped downward, and he lifted up Desmond's hand for a better look. "Interesting. The claws, it looks like it's just your nails getting longer and sharper. The actual ends of your fingers look about the same."

He pressed his thumb to his palm, then ran his fingers in between Desmond's. It was only quick reflexes that kept Desmond from biting a fang through his own lip.

"What, did you wanna give me a manicure?" 

Shaun ignored him. "And this..this is fascinating." 

Both hands moved up Desmond's arm to the seal. One held him steady while he other lightly traced over the design. His fingertips were soft and quick, leaving warm trails along the pattern. 

"It's..." Desmond wet his lips. "Just a thing that's always been there, ever since I turned for the first time. Like a really weird birthmark."

"Hm. And it has something to do with the Piece that makes you this demon?" The pale light made his glasses silvery. His expression was full of curiosity. Now he was running a finger around the circle that enclosed the star, over and over. Desmond's tail lashed behind him. 

"Yeah. I guess you could call it the Ring of Eden. There's no taking it off, though." 

A scrap of telling bitterness must have slipped into his voice. Shaun's eyes jumped to his face. "You've tried." 

He stopped running his fingers over it and instead wrapped his hand around it. That was worse. It just made Desmond want to feel his hands over more of him. 

He tried looking at the lighter square on the wall where a painting used to be, where a dark trail of mold was creeping down from the ceiling. There must be a leak. He would tell the architect to fix that. 

"Turns out it's even tougher than the rest of me. My claws wouldn't even leave a mark. I bent a steak knife all to hell trying to pry it off."

Shaun was staring at him. "You stupid bastard." 

Desmond turned his face away. "Look, being strong and fast, being able to fall a couple stories and hop up again, that part's great, but at the end of the day, being a normal human being is a _fight_. There's all that crap about raping people in their sleep or being a nightmare or stealing their sperm, and I have no idea if any of it has anything remotely to do with reality, just that there's always something pushing me to be something else." 

Right now it wanted him to pin Shaun against the wall and shove his mouth on his. Desmond yanked his arm away, out of Shaun's warm, exploring grasp, careful not to hurt him and then even angrier that he had to be. Shaun started to say something but he didn't want to hear it. 

"I'm not doing it. I'm not being some crazed sexmonster and I'm not ravishing anybody. I'm gonna go sit on my goddamn hands until this goes away." 

Desmond turned around and prowled into the nearest room, annoyed that time hadn't left a door to slam behind him. He didn't need the glow from the streetlight that came through the gaps between boards on the windows and left uneven blocks on the floor. There was a bed there, though a different one than he was used to. When he sat down on it his tail swept a semicircle in the dust behind him. he yanked his shoes and socks off so his clawed toes could grip the ground like they were supposed to, and was irritated at how much better it felt. 

It would be better if he turned back. In human form it was easier to keep things locked up. He took a deep breath full of dust and Shaun's scent and tried not to think about when this was Ezio's room. 

"I can't turn back with you standing there," he said without looking at the shape in the doorway. "Just leave me alone."

"Stop that." Shaun crossed his arms and looked at him over the top of his glasses. "No one likes a self-pitying smurf." 

Desmond looked down and ran a claw in wandering patterns along the top of the bedspread, watching the fabric part. "Look, I know it's not fair to take this out on you. It's just something that's been frustrating for a long time."

"I see." Shaun was quiet for a moment, before his reddish eyebrows made inquisitive arches. "I've got an idea. What if I did the ravishing?"

Desmond flopped backwards onto the bed with a puff of dust and a crinkle from the brittle fabric. He laid his stupid glowing arm over his eyes. "Not funny, Shaun." 

"I am absolutely serious." 

He felt the bed's weight shift as Shaun sat on the edge. 

"You are?" He moved his arm down to look at him. "Shit. You are." 

Shaun shrugged slightly and looked away. 

"Were you planning on telling me?" Desmond said into the dark, quiet room, in an attempt to buy time until the world started making sense again.

"I'm telling you now, aren't I?" 

Nope. Still not doing it. 

"Desmond." Shaun leaned over him and planted a hand on the middle of his chest. "You may never read a single one of my notes, but listen to me now. I couldn't care less what sort of ridiculous mythical creature you are. I put up with you being a Yank already." 

"Wait." Desmond's brain was slowly rebooting. "You're really...interested?" 

"Oh, good job, you're catching up." Shaun patted his chest. "Gold star for participation." 

"You don't have to be a dick about it." 

"The point is, I..." With a pained expression, he looked away. 

"What?" Desmond did a quick inventory to make sure he wasn't stabbing him with anything. 

He held his hand up. "Just a minute. I can do this." He took a deep breath, as though steeling himself. "I..." A grimace curled his lip and tightened the corners of his eyes. "...like you." 

Desmond groaned and would have shoved him if that wouldn't have sent him flying into the wall. "Is it _that_ hard to say?" 

Shaun glared. "I don't see you trying it!" 

"I like you." His fangs touched his lower lip when he smiled. "See? Easy." 

His hand found its way to Shaun's shoulder. The blue claws looked bizarre on his sweater, with the sharp tips slipping between the weave.

"Tear that," Shaun murmured, lowering toward him, "and I'll pour holy water down the back of your neck when you're sleeping." 

When he kissed him something in Desmond tore loose like a bag of marbles with the seam ripped. He buried his hand in Shaun's short, soft hair (careful, careful, bleeding scalps ruin romance) and kissed him like he meant it. His tongue ran along the seam of his lips as his other hand slipped down to the small of his back, with no harm inflicted to sweater. The warm weight of Shaun's hip pinned down his side.

There was a soft thumping noise. Shaun pulled back and looked behind him, where the pointed end of Desmond's tail was tapping against his thigh. 

"The tail, uh" Desmond said, licking the other man's taste from his lips, "kinda does what it wants." 

Shaun's hand wrapped around it near the end, thumb stroking idly. "Control, that's the problem. You're worried you'll lose it. The solution's obvious."

"Hmm?" Nothing was obvious when Shaun was gently toying with his tail like that, just below the triangular tip. This must be what cats felt like when they were scratched behind the ears. 

"Simple." His tone was light but there was avidity in his eyes. "I take charge. You do as I say." 

Desmond hoped his ears weren't actually perking up, or giving some other sign of the warmth that rolled through his body from head to toe. 

"You're using this whole thing as an excuse for that." 

"Maybe a little," Shaun admitted readily as he slipped his hand under Desmond's shirt, drawing trails of heat across his abdomen that made him gasp. The way his eyes dilated made the smugness of the rest of his expression forgivable. "Sensitive little devil, aren't you." 

"Ground rule," Desmond said, with what breath he could get while Shaun's questing touch turned to a full-palmed caress over the muscles of his stomach. "No puns." 

Shaun winced. "That one wasn't on purpose." 

"The first is free. Next time, I'll...curse you, or something. I think I can do that." 

"Shut up and get your clothes off." 

Maybe Shaun ordering him around wasn't so bad. 

The hoodie and shirt were easy, and the look Shaun was giving his body was almost worth all the crap he'd given him since the day they met. The ancient blankets were cool and fragile-feeling on his bare skin. 

His jeans were more of a problem. His claws clacked together and couldn't get a good hold of the zipper, and if he pulled too hard he could tear it right off. The hole from his tail in the back was bad enough. 

Desmond admitted defeat and dropped his hands away. "Little help?"

"Not made for fiddly work, are they," Shaun said as he leaned over him.

"Yeah, and if I tried trimming them they'd just chip...the scissors..." 

As Shaun pulled his zipper down,lightly grazing him as the teeth separated, Desmond lost his train of thought. A vivid, unfocused want electrified his skin. Shaun was barely down when he hooked his fingers in his jeans and underpants and yanked them off. 

"That's better," Desmond sighed and stretched, sending the light and shadow from his glowing seal dancing around the room. The cool air felt wonderful, and Shaun's eyes running up and down his body like he could barely believe it was better. Feeling, sound, sight, everything was so much sharper in this form. It was like he spent the rest of his life wrapped in cotton.

He looked at the curve where Shaun's neck met his shoulder and decided to find out if that went for taste, too. 

It turned out it did. The salty tang of his skin burned heady as whiskey, and Desmond could feel the vibration of the muffled sound he made. His tail folded into a hedonistic curl.

"N-no drinking my blood." 

"That's vampires," Desmond mumbled as he nuzzled his neck. "Those're different. You gonna take your clothes off now?" 

"I suppose it's that or have a clumsy idiot rip them."

Desmond grinned. "Yep." 

He leaned back on his elbows and watched Shaun pull his shirt and sweater off. Desmond's eyes followed the hem as it pulled up and revealed his lithe body. 

"Damn. I thought you just had the assassin desk job." 

"I'm going to be generous and consider that a compliment." 

His glasses were askew on his face. Desmond plucked them off, claws meeting like the catcher on one of those grabber things in arcades, and set them aside.

"You look different without them," he said and reached up to touch Shaun's face, stopping an inch short when he saw what his hand looked like next to normal human features. "Sorry." 

Shaun grabbed his hand and licked the palm while glaring at him deliberately. "Quit being an idiot. All I care about is that your cock doesn't have barbs."

Desmond was busy trying to deal with how much of his brain could short out from that that quick touch of a tongue. The air was cold on his wet, tingling palm. 

"It..." he licked his lips. "It doesn't." 

"I know that." The exasperation in Shaun's tone would have been annoying if he weren't taking his pants off. 

Desmond's eyes were sensitive to motion. Every move seemed magnified, from the way he tucked his thumbs inside the waistband to the tilt of his hips as he pushed them off. The light from Desmond's arm made everything pale and the shadows sharp, like a black and white TV show in high definition. Shaun's hair kept some color, a reddish tint. 

His pants made a soft cloth sound when they hit the floor. Desmond noticed he was staring, but wasn't really motivated to stop. 

"Lucky me," Shaun murmured, a smile tugging the corner of his lips, "I get the world's only nervous virgin sex demon." 

"You get the world's only nothing if you don't shut up," Desmond said, his throat dry. 

He was beautiful, that was the only word for it. Lean muscle and tight curves, slim hips and strong thighs. Desmond set his hands on his hips and stroked his thumbs along the curves of the bones, keeping them bent back to make sure the clawtips barely grazed his skin. He half sat up and flicked his eyes to Shaun's. 

"Can I...?"

"Whatever it is," Shaun said, his pupils blown in the dark, "I'll never forgive you if you don't." 

The same want he felt was reflected on Shaun's face. That meant it must be something human.

Desmond sat up and nudged him aside so he could get on his knees by the bed. The stone floor was cold and rough on his hot skin. He coaxed Shaun's knees apart, and leaned in. 

" _Shit!_ " The sound he won just from a lick told him he'd made a good decision. 

He tried running the whole surface of his tongue from base to tip, and heard Shaun gasp as his legs closed around his body to hold him there. Bolder, he wrapped his hand around the it and took it in his mouth. He heard Shaun's breathing quicken. His tail tapped behind him as he flicked his tongue at the underside and sank down lower. He moved quicker and gained confidence at the little gasps and pants he was winning, and tried taking him as deep as he could. 

Shaun made a gasping noise and pounding him on the back. "Fangs! Fangs! Fangs!" 

Desmond pulled back as quickly as he could while still being careful. "Oh, shit, oh god, sorry!"

"It's okay. It's okay." Shaun took a deep breath. Desmond could see his pulse pounding rapidly in his neck. "Just a little close and pointy for comfort." 

"God." Desmond sat on the bed next to him, rubbing his face. "How about you just fuck me?" 

Shaun's smile was bright, playful, and did something funny to his stomach. "I thought you'd never ask." 

They figured having Desmond on his back would give them better odds of keeping his tail under control. 

"I don't want to get sliced with that thing. I'd have to get a very weird tetanus shot." 

"Hey, it's not sharp. You were just touching it." Desmond pulled his legs up and watched Shaun kneel on the bed between them. "Uh. You can do that some more if you want." 

"What, this?" Shaun rain his hands lavishly over the part of his tail that snaked out from beneath him.

"Mmmmn." Desmond's head fell onto the ancient pillow and his eyes rolled back.

Shaun laughed quietly. "I'll keep that in mind as a way to shut you up." 

He kept one hand toying with his tail as the other explored Desmond's chest, drawing fingertips down between the muscles of his stomach. His brows knit, and he seemed to think of something. 

"You just look like this naturally, don't you," he accused. 

"Just part of the deal," Desmond said sheepishly.

"That is unfair to the rest of the species. Do you know what some people would do for a body like this? They would kill. They would kill endangered panda cubs." 

The corner of Desmond's lips tugged up. "That is," he said, his tail wrapping indolently around Shaun's arm, "by far, the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"Quiet, I'm trying to think." The way he drummed his fingers on Desmond's stomach didn't help _his_ brain run any better. "How are we going to do this...there's not really anything to use...bloody thirteenth century fortifications, they never prepare for these things..." 

"Here." Desmond coaxed his tail to unwrap from around Shaun's arm - it liked him - so he could take his wrist in his hand and draw it up to his mouth. He kept his eyes on Shaun's face as he licked his fingers, letting his tongue play between them and tasting the salt of his skin. They were nice, long fingers that felt good to suck on. It had to look absolutely obscene, and he loved it. 

He was careful about the fangs. 

Shaun touched his wet fingers together. "That's not ordinary. It's...slippery." 

He gave Desmond a thoughtful, slightly troubled look.

"Don't think about it too much," Desmond advised, pulling his knees up further. "I try not to." 

The bed creaked as Shaun leaned over him and braced his weight on an elbow to Demsond's side. Warmth poured off of him and shone on Desmond's bare skin like sunlight. Desmond hissed in a breath as his wet fingers stroked between his asscheeks. 

"Tell me if it hurts," Shaun said quietly, face serious and intent.

"Shaun, a truck _might_ hurt me if it was going fast enough. Sex isn't going to- oh god." 

Shaun stilled. ""Oh god' good or 'oh god' bad?" 

"Good." Desmond rolled his hips encouragingly, and strangled a little noise when Shaun got the hint. It was weird, and a little cold, but warmed up fast. 

Desmond couldn't say if he'd ever really had Shaun's full attention before. Usually he was a distraction that got a couple of glances before Shaun got back to what he was actually doing, not what he was focused on with a look of concentration as though he were memorizing every detail. This must be what a map of fifteenth century Venice felt like. 

His fingers inside him felt strange in a way that was rapidly becoming very good, like trying a new food and finding out it was what you've been craving for a long, long time. Shaun's fingers curled and so did he, long legs arching and clawed toes rending the bedspread. 

"Yeah," he gasped, " _that_." 

"Easy now," Shaun murmured, and kissed the hollow of his throat. He took his hand away, which was a shame because Desmond was really, really starting to like that hand, but only until he moved his whole body closer, pushed Desmond's legs up until they were doubled against his chest, and put his cock there instead.

Shaun's breath was quick. He moved his hands to Desmond's hips, where they lingered pale against the indigo skin.

"Now," he said, "I'm going to fuck you."

"I could've figured that out myself."

Shaun's face got the old, familiar aggrieved look. "Could you, Desmond? Could you _really_ ?" 

Something fond and irresistible made Desmond smile, fangs touching his lower lip, and he reached up to put his hands on Shaun's shoulders. In every heartbeat, nervous excitement made electricity pulse through his skin.

"Come on. I'm ready." 

Shaun bent forward over him, and breathed out a long sigh onto the skin of his neck as he moved. It was a strange feeling that he wasn't sure about at first, though the long, quiet noise Shaun made tipped him in a positive direction. Desmond gave him a nod to get him to start moving. He wasn't sure what to think, so he tried closing his eyes and listening to his body. 

Shaun's shoulders moved under his hands, pressing forward and back rhythmically. He smelled good, in a distinct, personal way that Desmond knew he'd be able to pick out of a crowded room in the dark for the rest of his life. His breathing was hypnotic. The push inside him washed over his whole body, a welcome shock on his skin like a bucket of cool water pouring over him and washing away the dust from a long, hot day in the training ring. He heard a long, whispering sound slip between his lips. His tail, half pinned down, made a soft tapping on the bedspread beside him. 

What started as warmth and fulfilled desire built fast to a shower of sparks up his spine every time Shaun moved. He opened his eyes to see him, and the unguarded, intimate look on his friend's face made his heart try to move in two directions at once. Desmond pulled down to kiss him, and his angle changed, and he buried a full-throated moan in his mouth. He didn't know he could even make sounds like that, and now he couldn't stop. Whatever he was, all of him loved it with a hungry ferocity that could only be human.

Shaun broke away from his mouth to pant and kiss his throat. Desmond's neck arched, he managed something like " _Fuck_ yes," and when his arms slammed into the bed to either side of him he remembered to hold back just in time to keep from smashing the frame. There was heat pooling in his stomach, need making his muscles tighten, and as his hips jerked up Shaun wrapped his hand around his cock and that was it, he was falling, lights were crackling in front of his eyes and his hands were clawing the blankets to pieces and euphoria was crashing through his body in waves that might never stop. All he knew was Shaun's teeth were biting down on his shoulder, his whole body jerked, and he made this gorgeous, desperate noise that Desmond would vow to never tease him about for the rest of his life if it meant he got to hear it again. 

It took a long time to work his way back to the dark, quiet room. Pieces of down floated in the air above him. Shaun was collapsed on top of him, so he could feel each breath taken in and let out against his neck. His heartbeat was fast. When he looked up at Desmond he licked his lips unsteadily, and sweat stuck pieces of his hair to his forehead at awkward angles. 

'Well," he said, voice uneven and a little hoarse, "if you rate sex in terms of antiques ruined, we've done an exceptional job." 

Desmond's lips worked for a moment before he got around to remembering how talking went. The bed had a definite tilt. "I broke it, huh." 

"I like to think I helped." His thumb traced over the lines of Desmond's seal. "Just be careful getting up so you don't snap the whole thing in half." 

Desmond's arm went loosely around him. "Do we have to get up?" 

"Not what I was suggesting to anytime soon." 

He laid his face on Desmond's chest and closed his eyes. Desmond stroked the small of his back. If he held them at the right angle, the claws didn't get in the way. 

"I read them." 

Shaun's voice was half asleep. "Hmm?"

"The notes in the database. I read them all. They're funny." 

He could feel him smile against his skin. "Good to know you have some taste." 

Dawn was creeping toward them, with the explanations they would have to give and the job they had to do, but these walls had stood for hundreds of years. They could give them a few more minutes. 

"Des?" His voice was soft, a secret from the rest of the world. 

"Yeah?" The outside of his thumb caressed his warm skin, as the tail, responding to a half-conscious command, folded over him and rested on the backs of his legs. 

He curled closer. "No stealing my sperm." 

"Shut up."


End file.
